Vengeance
by BoredParanoia
Summary: Defintion: a dish best served cold. What happened when Graves got his hands on Priggs.


The hall to his personal room was dim, the light barely illuminating his way. Dr. Appreror Priggs walked briskly through the hall with a deep scowl on his face. All his thoughts were consumed, thinking of the fiasco that had occurred today.

His jail had been discovered and the inmates were freed. The secret was out. Zuan now knew of his deeds and he doubted that it would settle under the rug. Retribution would be surely demanded, and his ruin would be assured. As Priggs entered the room, his brain was running at a thousand miles. Plans were made then discarded and all possible variables were being accounted for.

"Hello, Priggs. You look well." Priggs' thought process literally crashed as his entire being froze. Struggling to turn his head, with beads of sweat now flowing down his face, he saw him. Mostly obscured in shadow, and sitting in a chair, the person was smoking a cigar, letting the dim red light illuminate one side of his face.

Priggs gulped. He had once seen that face in his prison: helpless, restrained, and in chains. Now he was free, and pointing the barrels of a hextech shotgun straight at him. Priggs had once held his life in his hands. He knew that now it was his turn to pass judgment.

Summoning up any remaining bravado he had left, Priggs cleared his throat and tried to look as nonchalant as possible. "Graves. What brings you here?"

Graves' face was impassive as he lifted his shotgun and fired. The hat on Priggs' head went flying and landed next to him. At that moment, any bravado quickly vanished as he collapsed to his knees.

"W-WHAT DO YOU WANT?"

Graves simply tsked, tapping the cigar over the side of the chair, letting the ashes fall to the carpet.

"You kept me holed up for a long time. For that, you're gonna pay." Graves took a long smoke, and then exhaled, letting the smoke puff into a cloud.

"But first…" Graves leaned back, while pointing the shotgun straight at Priggs.  
"Where can I find Twisted Fate?"

Deciding that it was best to cooperate, Priggs tried to remember all he knew about the Card Master.

"W-we lost contact. As soon as the process ended, he teleported out of the area."

Graves cocked his shotgun.

"W-wait! There are rumors that a champion in the Institute of War uses cards as his weapons and could teleport on his own."

Priggs watached as Graves stroked his beard. "The Institute of War, huh? That giant organized bar brawl in the middle of Valoran?"

As Graves thought and pondered this development, a smirk grew on his lips. "Good, shouldn't be too hard for Fate to have an 'accident.' Now, for you, Priggs… I'm feeling mighty generous."

The Zaunian Businessman watched as Graves stood up. "For the past three years, you treated with your Zuanian hospitality. And I believe in returning the favor."

The Outlaw took out a revolver and began to load it. After fully loading it, he dropped it at Priggs' knees. Priggs stared at it for a few moments, before being prodded by Destiny.

"What are you waiting for? Pick it up."

Priggs hesitated, before being hit on the head so hard that he was sent sprawling. As he slowly regained his wits, Graves began to snarl.

"Come on, we don't got all day. Pick it up!"

With trembling hands, Priggs picked up the revolver.

"Now put that to your head and pull."

The blood that was running down now contrasted to the paleness of Priggs' face.

"A-are you mad? You fully loaded this thing! How is this generous!"

Graves sneered darkly as he knelt down to be eye level with Priggs, his shotgun now pointed at his gut.

"Priggs, Priggs, Priggs. I'm giving you a chance here. There is a chance, a small chance," Graves held up two fingers with a small space in between them "For you to live. That there revolver could jam, saving your life. Let's see if Lady Luck is smiling on you."

As Graves stood up, he aimed the shotgun at Priggs' head. "Otherwise, you better pull fast. My trigger finger is feeling mighty itchy."

As Priggs hesitated, Graves became impatient.

"Come on, do it."

The blood that ran down Priggs' face now mingled with his tears.

"What the matter? Are you scared?"

Graves never noticed Priggs' pants beginning to get wet.

"Didn't you once tell me that when you're about to die, that's when you're most alive? Do it!"

Priggs began to whimper. Graves' patience ran out.

"DO IT!"

"AUGHH!" With that, the room resonated with the scream of a man who simply wasn't ready to die.

BANG!

A nearby self-portrait of the Zaunite Official was spattered with crimson.

Graves stared passively as the corpse toppled over. He waited for a reaction. Anger? Satisfication? Guilt? Hate?

Nothing.

Fearing the presence of eyes around him, he looked around and noticed that the late Priggs had a lot of artwork in his private study. Nearly all of them portraits and busts of people Graves didn't know and didn't care about. All of them seemed to stare at Graves with accusation in their eyes. Graves only snarled back.

"He wasn't that innocent, you know."

As Graves fell back into the chair, he let his shotgun drop to the floor. The paintings and statues were still staring. He was beginning to get pissed.

As he grabbed a bottle full of liquor and began to lift it to his lips, he stopped. He stared at the bottle, then at the lit cigar in his other hand. Wrapped around Priggs' neck was his bowtie.

Graves' lips twitched.

* * *

The people could only watch as Dr. Agregor Priggs' house burned. The fire department sprayed water to stop the fire. The light lit the entire district.

No one saw the man leaning against the wall, his cigar a snub. No one saw the man flick the cigar away. No one saw the man heft a hextech shotgun onto his shoulder and disappear into an alleyway.

No one saw Graves leave with his vengeance still raw.


End file.
